


Dead Moon

by sergeant_smudge



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_smudge/pseuds/sergeant_smudge
Summary: If you really want to take me down, pray to the dark of the moon.It's making me shiver.





	Dead Moon

**Author's Note:**

> title and summary from Dead Moon by Brick + Mortar

He wakes up from cryo, shivering. He tries,

“Where am I?” then

“Where’s Steve?” and then

“What year is it?” but through his chattering teeth and ruined lungs, the words are shredded into pained groans.

Strong hands prod at his wasted muscles, pressing needles into his skin and pushing down on his pulse. They say, 

“Are you with us, James?” and “Can you hear me, Mister Barnes?”

He tries to curl in on himself, pull his knees up and wrap one remaining arm around his sternum, but they push him flat again and again and  _ again _ . 

He clutches at shaky breaths and exhales sobs as the icy numbness spreads outwards from his chest. “St’v?” he calls out with a half breath, muscles contracting as a tremor flushes through his body. No one seems to hear him. 

There’s an icy chill in the marrow of his bones, in the core of his body. It’s driven deep into him, like poison, like venom, like a bullet. They strap his limbs to the mattress and pile thin blankets onto him until the twitching curls of his toes are hidden under cotton. 

Sweat pours from his skin like he’s in withdrawal, like he’s an addict coming clean instead of a man spiraling downwards. Air whistles in his dry throat, teeth aching. 

The room is white like snow blindness, like a vertical drop from a train. There’s pain and a frost layering him that he can’t shake off because he can’t  _ move _ . 

He breathes out a desperate, “No, please, no,” each time his lungs deflate. He pulls helplessly at the restraints, weak like snowflakes, weak like wind. 

“Please try to relax, Mister Barnes. Your body is burning through the painkillers too fast,” a voice says, but the meaning of the words slips away like smoke. 

“Steve?” he attempts again, voice barely a whisper. 

“Try to relax, Mister Barnes.” 

He turns his head to the side and feels his bones splinter in the cold. 


End file.
